


"Perfect" -Kyoya Ootori/Female!Reader

by Crystal059



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Clubbing, F/M, First Dates, Hotels, Kyouya being Kyouya, Midnight driving, Unexpected Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 01:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12806667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal059/pseuds/Crystal059
Summary: "I know I'm not perfect. Far from it. But, maybe I can be as perfect as she needs me to be."In which, the reader is a small town, bohemian girl who lives life to its fullest, Ootori Kyoya is the owner and CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, and the two meet one night, destined to change each other for the better.





	"Perfect" -Kyoya Ootori/Female!Reader

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Credit goes to the writers of the One Direction song, Perfect, and to the creators of the Ouran HighSchool Host Club manga & anime. I don't own any of it, but the concept of the story. Enjoy!
> 
> Warning: There is a bit of lemon in here, at the end, but it's mostly just fluff and Kyoya being himself.
> 
> As usual, (Y/N) means your name, (Y/L/N) means your last name, (E/C) means your eye colour, (H/L) means your hair length, (H/C) means your hair colour, and (F/N) means your friend's name.

It was absurd to think about, completely and utterly absurd. There was no other word for it.

I was Ootori Kyoya, a successful businessman who ran an international and multi-billion dollar company. I traveled the world. I appeared on countless popular talk shows when I wasn’t on the phone, making decisions that would affect if my company or any of my investments would sink or make even more money.

Every one of my suits was designed and fitted by famous tailors; my mansion was one of the largest, and I had nearly twenty vacation houses all over the world, a few of them being mansions as well.

I didn’t have many people I’d actually consider friends, and those few I did have, I hadn’t talk to since high school in Japan. Sometimes, though, I’d spend some free time looking back on those days, and I’d always laugh at how serious I had taken a club like that.

It was practice, that was what I thought of it as, for bigger and better things, of which I now had.

My family was proud of me; why wouldn’t they be? I had proven my worth, but with my own company, which made for some tense family reunions. My mother and sister, however proud of me they were, urged me to meet someone nice and settle down, but I would just brush the issue aside.

After all, I had my business to run. There was no time for matters of the heart, not if I was going to stay on top.

But, of course, that had to change, and it did when I met you.

(######)

  
I might never be your knight in shining armour  
I might never be the one you bring home to mother  
And I might never be the one to buy you flowers  
But I can be the one, be the one tonight

  
(######)

The music blasts through the speakers, booming in my ears from all directions. I look around the room with disdain, frowning down on the grinding, sweaty crowd on the dance floor.

A business partner of mine had arranged our meeting here, instead of at a respectful, high class restaurant. I had tried my hardest not to sound too disgusted when I had politely asked him to change the meeting’s location.

“You need to lighten up, Ootori!” My associate had laughed, clapping me on the shoulder. I had glared at him for that, from underneath my calm exterior, saying nothing in return.

And so, here I am, stuck in the building of pounding music and strobe lights, knowing we would get nothing done but drinking ourselves silly. Of course, I have no intention of drinking that much. Just enough where I could, for the time being forget about how annoying my associate is.

As I take a step forward, three people cut across, drinks in hands and smiles on their lips. None apologize, which I find disgraceful, but a fourth person, a young woman, apologizes for them.

“I’m sorry for their impolite behavior,” she shouts over the noise, smiling at me. She takes a quick sip of what looks like bourbon on the rocks, but it could be anything, honestly. The flashing lights make it hard to tell; only that there is ice and liquid in a glass.

She adds, “They’ve had a lot to drink and they’ve been doing that all night.”

I nod politely at her. “It is quite alright,” I reply, although it is not. I do, however, appreciate that this lady has more manners than her friends. She looks to move away, but I stop her with a hand to her arm, making sure as to not cause her to spill her drink. “My name’s Kyoya Ootori.” I stick out my hand for her to shake, which she does.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” she says, the simple smile still on her lips. She lets her hand drop, her fingers playing with the fringe of her torn shorts.

I stare down at her, for she is a few inches shorter than me, studying her face and clothes and the way her hand taps out a rhythm to the music on the side of her leg.

“Oh, uh, you’ll have to excuse me, Kyoya. My friends are waving me over,” she tells me, looking apologetic. I nod, bidding her farewell, and watch after her as she moves toward the booth her friends have procured.

When she slides into the booth seat, I turn and continue on my way to the reserved table I can see my business associate at, along with several unknown, yet obviously drunk, women.

The blasted fool waves me over when he spots me, his other arm slung over a younger lady’s petite form. I inwardly groan at the thought of dealing with the drunken fool.

This is going to be a long night.

  
(######)

  
When I first saw you, from across the room  
I could tell that you were curious (Oh yeah)  
Girl I hope you’re sure, what you’re looking for  
‘Cause I’m not good at making promises

  
(######)

After spending three long hours silently watching my associate make countless crude remarks at countless young women, I turn away from the cringeworthy sight. My eyes roam the dimly lit building, flitting over the bar and the dancing mass of people, and stopping on (E/C) eyes staring back at me.

A small smile slides on to (Y/N)’s face, and she raises her eyebrows at me as she sips her drink. I excuse myself, though I am not acknowledged as I slip away, and I am secretly grateful for it.

In turn, (Y/N) stands as well, muttering an excuse to her colleagues. She heads for the bar, no doubt getting more to drink, and I instantly follow, frowning.

As the bar is crowded past the maximum, I have to stand closer than is appropriate to (Y/N). She flashes a bright smile at me and tries to wave down the bartender. He doesn’t notice her amongst the sea of clubbers.

“Must you drink so much?” I yell. She rolls her eyes at me.

Gesturing to the table she had come from, she shouts back, “It’s for my friends.”

I raise a slender eyebrow at that. “And they cannot get up and get the drinks themselves?” (Y/N) laughs.

“No, they can’t. Proud, lazy Americans every one of them.” I snort at that.

We both fall quiet, (Y/N) still trying to get the bartender’s attention. Being taller, I casually hold my hand out, catching the attention of the man himself. (Y/N) smiles graciously at me, and then leans forward to place her order.

I help her carry the drinks back to her friends, none of them thanking us or even looking up from their argument over some idiotic product I care not about.

(Y/N) grabs the remains of her drink and we sit down at an available table close by, both of us leaning in close to hear the other properly. She thanks me, drink on the table in front of her and a finger tracing the edge of the glass.

She looks radiate, sitting there, her warm eyes sparkling at me. Continuing to stare, however impolite it is I cannot seem to stop she is so beautiful, the blaring music seems to settle into background noise.

Thankfully, she interrupts train of thought by asking, “So, Kyoya Ootori, what is someone like you doing in a place like this?”

I must make a face, for (Y/N)’s smile turns mirthful. I steal a glance over to the table I have left to talk to this woman. My associate has not noticed my leaving, and I doubt he will for the rest of the night.

“A business associate of mine chose this place to discuss the continuing of our partnership,” I reply, somewhat bitterly. (Y/N) nods like she understands.

“Most of the time my friends drag me to these places. They’re fun,” she admits, “but they’re all the same, so I think it’s unnecessary to come to these places every night. And you are definitely not getting anything done sitting here with me.”

I elect to ignore her last comment, foregoing explaining to her how we wouldn’t have gotten anything done whether I had met her or not. “What do you do when you’re not out at a club?”

(Y/N) tilts her head to the side. “Usually I get some much deserved sleep. Working all day can exhaust a person.”

“Where do you work?” I ask, suddenly interested. She seems small town, but in a good way, like she has been sheltered but is still aware of the world’s possibilities. I find myself belatedly trying to figure out where she could work, running a list through my head before she even answers.

“Mostly small labor jobs,” the girl replies, shrugging one shoulder. “You know, at diners, libraries, wherever I can really.”  
She leans back, taking her drink with her.

Eyeing me up and down, she quirks an eyebrow. “Look at you, all dressed up and comely in appearance. What do you do for work?”

“You don’t recognise me?” I ask, wondering how that could be. Ever since my company has gotten off the ground, either it or myself has been mentioned or shown on the international news. Especially now on American news channels since I have moved most of my company base here.

She shakes her head. “Why? Should I?”

I gape a bit before shaking my own head to clear my wonderment. I adjust my glasses, mask back in place. “I suppose not.” Looking at her almost makes my mask crumble again. How is it possible for her to look so beautiful in the never ending, flashing lights that make everything look unreal and hazy?

Maybe that is it, I am seeing an enhanced and surreal beauty due to these ghastly lights. I mean, it has to be impossible that someone could be as effortlessly beautiful as (Y/N) seems, in that moment, to be.

“I run an international, multi billion dollar company out of America, Japan, and several parts of Europe. It’s a very famous company,” I tell her.

“Multi billion? Wow, your parents must be proud.”

I don’t reply, but again, she seems to see something in my expression, for she doesn’t push it. Instead, she picks up her drink, swirling it around and watching the ice click against the sides of the cup.

“How about we go on a date tomorrow night?” She asks out of nowhere, arching one eyebrow and taking a sip of her drink. She leans forward on the table when I don’t answer right away, one arm on the table top and the other arm held up by the elbow so her drink is level with her mouth.

After several more beats of silence from me, she leans back, frowning slightly and looking around at the crowd.

“You ditching your associate to hang out with me makes it seem like you’d be interested,” she explains, shrugging in defense. She is right, though. I am interested, and I need to let her know that before it’s too late, though I don’t understand why it is suddenly so importantly to me to see this girl again.

“I make no promises, you see my schedule’s quite busy,” I reply, rhythmically tapping a finger on my own glass. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She hums and nods, gulps the last of her drink down, and then turns to leave. “Wait!” She stops and looks at me with curious eyes. I inwardly curse at the growing urge to keep her with me a little longer so I can get to know her better; this has never happened before.

I push my thoughts away, and speak, “I don’t have your number to contact you.”

“Oh, right.” She slides back in front of me, smiling sheepishly and chuckling a little at her own foolishness, “Duh, completely forgot.” She grabs a pen from her pant pocket, and scribbles her information on my cocktail napkin.

“It’s not my personal number, it’s my current motel room number,” she tells me as she slides the napkin back across the table top. “I don’t have a cell phone.”

I glance down at the napkin, taking in the motel’s name, address, and phone number with (Y/N)’s extension underneath. Opening my mouth to question her lack of a cell phone in the year 2017, I am interrupted.

“Oh, shit! Sorry, Kyoya, I have to get going. My friends are ditching me and if I don’t catch up, they’re likely to crash in the room and keep me locked out all night,” (Y/N) rushes out. She lurches forward, pecks my cheek, and speeds out of the booth and out of the club before I can finish processing her words.

My cheek tingles from her touch as I watch her (H/L) (H/C) hair bounce and her darkly-coloured wrap flow behind her in her departure.

  
(######)

  
But if you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms  
And if you like having secret little rendezvouses  
If you like to do the things you know that we shouldn’t do  
Then baby I’m perfect, then baby I’m perfect for you

  
(######)

After the first night, I had fully expected not to call her. Not because I’m not interested; I am interested, but I’ve been into women before, and those interests eventually just died off because I’m too busy with my company. Because my work is my top priority.

What I don’t expect is what ends up happening.

The next day, I cannot stop thinking about her, nor can I stop reaching for the phone. Every time I hang up the phone with a business associate or an assistant, I find myself halfway through typing in the number (Y/N) had given to me before I shake myself out of the trance and hang up the phone until I need it next.

It happens again the following day, and again the day after that, and after that. In the fifth day, I finally resolve to call her and end this nightmarish cycle.

I dial the number, having remembered that she had said it was a motel room extension, and I hope she and her friends haven’t left yet.

When (Y/N) picks up the phone, another thought from the other night pops into my head. She doesn’t have time to say anything before I am speaking.

“Why don’t you have a cell phone? It’s 2017,” I blurt out. My fist clenches reflexively at my sudden brashness. I have never been so impulsive before.

(Y/N) just laughs. “Well, hello to you too!” She chirps. There are sounds of people talking and moving around in the background. “And, the answer to your rather abrupt question, is that I did, in fact, have one. My ex kind of threw it out a window seven stories up.”

I blink in surprise. “That sounds very extreme. What did you do to warrant such an action?”

“I wanted to break up with them. So they threw my phone out the window…..” After a moment’s pause, (Y/N) adds, “They had a rather nasty temper. Always yelling and throwing things.”

“Out windows, apparently,” I remark, cracking the tiniest of smiles.

(Y/N) bursts out into a fit of giggles, making my spirits soar high. When she catches her breath, she agrees happily, “It would seem so. Hold on.”

There is more talking, and this time I can hear (Y/N)’s voice in the mix. After a minute, a door clicks close and she gets back on the line.

“So, what’s up?” She asked, sounding farther away than before. She probably has me on speaker.

I clear my throat and sit up straighter in my chair. “Yes, well, I was calling to follow up on the date you proposed when we first met,” I say into the phone.

“Oh.” She sounds slightly surprised. “Okay, great. When are you available?”

She doesn’t say anything about my calling her five days after we met, which I am satisfied with. I have never understood why a delay like that would be a big deal to others. I work very hard at my job, which causes it to take up a good amount of my time.

I barely have enough time in the day to call a girl I have met outside of work, let alone the time to meet up with them. However, with (Y/N), I am anxious to see her again. I feel that meeting with her again will satisfy my ever growing need to see her every second of every day. It might even quell that need; stifle it out of existence.

“Kyoya?”

I shake myself out of my thoughts. “My apologizes, (Y/N). I was looking at my calendar,” I say.

“And?” She wonders, sounding patient on the other end. She doesn’t sound like she was in a hurry. It must be her day off.

A notion pops into my head, but this time, I refrain from blurting it out. I am more educated than that.

“Are you, by any chance, free today?” I ask her.

There was silence on the other end until, finally, (Y/N) answers with, “Definitely.”

“Very good,” I say. “If you could come to my hotel at 8:30PM, I’ll have someone meet you in the lobby and bring you up to my room.”

I give her the hotel name and address, then we exchange goodbyes and I hang up.

The rest of the afternoon, a strange sensation is bubbling in my chest and I find myself constantly watching the clock.

I cannot wait to see her again.

  
(######)

In the hotel lights, (Y/N) (Y/L/N) looks even more radiant than under the strobing lights of the club we met in. The crystals of the chandelier cast about the lobby a certain ambiance in which (Y/N) looks right at home. She has chosen to wear more upscale clothes for our date than her last outfit, which had consisted of shorts, a tee, and a cardigan.

Now, she stands in the center of the lobby, a (F/C) dress on with matching heels. Hanging down from her ears, her earrings sparkles as she turns her head and catches sight of me. She smiles and moves toward me, her bag strap glittering in the light as well.

She loops her arm with mine, and we immediately head for the elevators.

“Hello, Kyoya,” she greets, the grin on her face never fading.

I give a polite smile back, letting her go in first when the elevator arrives. I walk in after her and press the button for my floor. “How are you, (Y/N)?” I ask, clasping my hands in front of me.

(Y/N) sighs, her smile steady on her face. “I’m doing well. My friends wouldn’t stop hounding me for information on where I was going tonight. Work is going well, though, nothing to complain about there.” She pauses, eyes moving to the ascending numbers before flicking back to me. “How are you? Business well?”

I nod my confirmation, “Business is well. I managed to move past my frustrations at my business partner and we arranged another deal for this upcoming year.”

“That sounds good. I’m glad,” (Y/N) comments. The elevator dings and the doors open. I escort her to my suite.

She immediately stands in awe at the view from the ceiling-to-floor windows in the living room, pointing out places she has been and telling me stories about her life in this city. I listen with eager ears, taking the time to watch her closely.

Her eyes reflect off the light of the buildings around us, and her smile shines even as her lips continued moving; now she is recounting the time she and her friends drove out to the country and lit a bonfire with some of the vodka they had brought with them.

After she finishes the story, I quickly order room service, and the two of us sit down to continue talking. This time, our conversation consists of museums, art, and history. (Y/N) talks as excitedly about history as she did her adventures with her rowdy friends.

Our conversation steers toward our own lives, both of us asking questions about the other, as our dinner arrives. We talk as we eat, and there is a nearly constant, though small, smile tugging at my lips as we sit.

I stand some time later, glancing at the clock as I pack the plates back onto the cart. The clock read, 10:28PM. I can’t believe how much time has passed already. Never have I spent so much time getting to know one person, but (Y/N) is special, it seems. For some unknown reason, I feel drawn in when around her, wanting so badly to be the reason for her seemingly ceaseless joy.

As I roll the cart to the door of the suite, there seems to be more noise in the hall than usual: loud talking and laughing, and many people walking from the elevator, maybe even more than ten. I don’t think much of it until I open the door and set the cart up against the wall.

The people turn, almost all at once, when I step out, and someone apparently recognizes me, for they come closer.

“(Y/N)!!?” The lady who had first stepped forward shouts, completely disregarding the fact that there are other people on the floor. “(Y/N)!!”

My date comes out of the room behind me, holding the door open as she peers down the hall.

“(F/N)! What are you doing here?” (Y/N) asks, eyes wide with surprise. The two embrace, Miss (F/N) looking a bit more than tipsy. In fact, all the people with (F/N) look either drunk or high. And as I scan the congestion in the hall, I notice even more people emerging from the stairway at the far end and the elevators, which are closer to my room.

“I wanted to see this hotel you were talking about,” (F/N) says, as if it should be obvious. She moves into the room, staring in awe at the view just as (Y/N) did not long ago, and suddenly, the crowd follows despite my protests.

Before I can comprehend what’s happening, the crowd has music blasting and drinks being poured. Quite a few couples immediately begin to make out, sucking face as if their lives depended on it. On top of all of that, I realize I have somehow lost my date among all the bodies in the suite.

Quickly, before the masses still pouring out from the stairwell get to the room, I push my way through the crowd, my head turning in all directions to catch a glimpse of (Y/N).

Everyone is moving and talking around me, and it’s looking like it’ll get rowdy soon. I don’t apologize to anyone as I push past; most people were too drunk to notice or care.

I finally find (Y/N) talking happily with some people I have never seen before. I grab her by her upper arm, excuse us both, and walk away from the group, head bent low so (Y/N) can hear me.

“Where did everyone come from? Can’t you get rid of them?” I have to shout over the booming music.

(Y/N) smiles at a passerby who raises their beer to her in greeting, then her eyes turn to me, sympathetic looking.

“My friends brought lots of people, who brought even more people.” She glances around, frowning slightly. “I’m really sorry they crashed our date. I honestly had no idea they’d do this.”

She scrunches her nose up as she gazes around. Her expression is one of profound apology when she turns her face back to mine. “They’ve never done something like this before.”

“It’s alright,” I lie; I’m starting to get mad, but not at (Y/N), “It’s just that they’re not being polite to the other guests on this floor. Someone might call management.”

I’m trying my hardest to be objective about the whole situation, but I’m finding it difficult when all I can see is complete strangers trashing the suite I’m staying in. No doubt there’s already a couple engaging in sex on the bed I am sleeping in at night.

A sudden ruckus outside the room catches our attention, and (Y/N) and I move through the crowd to the door. The party has spilled out into the hall, due to the number of people who think it’s okay to have a party in a prestigious hotel.

The ruckus is caused by three people, who had apparently thought it funny to steal a cleaning lady’s cart from another floor.

At least, that’s what I hear as one of the men with the cart shouts the story to a friend. (Y/N)’s hand touches my arm, and I jerked out of my murderous thoughts to look at her. I can’t help the anger that courses through me now; blood rushes in my ears as I stare daggers at everyone in this hall.

The party gets even worse in a matter of seconds as security appears from the staircase at the far end. They’re pushing their way through the crowd, some of them set on shutting the party down from the inside of the room, while the rest start grabbing hold of people and dragging them back toward the staircase.

The crowd surges in as many directions as they can, people hurrying to the staircase on the opposite side of the floor. Some make it to the elevators without any disturbance, but mostly the crowd is heading toward the staircases, trying to make it past the security guards.

In all the commotion, someone pulls the fire alarm, and now there is a mass of people, drunk, panicked, and getting wet as the sprinklers in the ceiling turn on. As the fire alarm continues blaring, everyone starts moving faster, and it’s a miracle that (Y/N) and I manage to stay together as we stand against the wall, watching everything.

(Y/N) grabs my arm, and starts dragging me along with the crowd, toward the staircase at the other end of the hall. I can’t make out all that she’s saying, but I have the distinct feeling, based on her elated expression, she’s having more fun than I am right now.

This could be a normal occurrence for her - men with authority coming to break up a party that got out of hand - and I find I don’t exactly like the fact that she’s including me in the riot that races down flights of stairs to the exit.

  
(######)

  
And if you like midnight driving with the windows down  
And if you like going places we can’t even pronounce  
If you like to do the things that you’ve been dreaming about  
Then baby I’m perfect, then baby I’m perfect

  
(######)

I’ll have to admit, running at top speed in a suit out the hotel lobby is the most unexpected part of the evening. (Y/N) is laughing and shouting out cries of joy with the rest of the dispersing crowd as we race down the street.

Several pedestrians stare as we run past, but I do my best to ignore them.

(Y/N) turns abruptly and climbs into a pickup truck, leaning over to open the door for me. I clamber in, closing the door behind me as the getaway driver starts the car.

We shoot out of the parking space, (Y/N) swerving the pickup expertly through the streets ahead. It is not long before we’re a great distance away from the hotel.

I can finally breath normally again. My grip on the handle above the window loosens immensely as (Y/N) gets on the highway.

“Why did you do that?” I ask, anger breaking through now that the adrenaline is no longer coursing through me.

Why did you let that happen, I wonder as I glare over at her, eyes narrowing ever more at her smiling face.

(Y/N) glances over, laughing at my stern expression. I am a little confused by her reaction, but I try not to focus on that.

“Come on, Kyoya. You should have a bit of fun every now and then. It’s not healthy for you to be so uptight,” (Y/N) replies, still smiling. I am suddenly finding it hard to be mad.

“What would my associates, or even my family, say if they heard about this? Me, an Ootori, getting chased out of one of the most prestigious hotels in this city! By security guards, no less!”

Out the window to my right, the lights from the city gleam and flash at us as we drive past.

“You make it sound like we did something illegal,” she comments, smile gone now. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“I thought we were having fun,” she whispers. I bite back a response.

It is silent for a time, the minutes ticking by along with the miles. Neither of us speak, and the silence is unbearable for me.

“Are you going to take me back?” I ask.

“Do you want to go back?” She returns, voice sounding even, but her white-knuckled hands clutching the steering wheel give away her emotions.

I look at her again, taking in her dimly-lit profile. Her hair is slightly messy and wind blown, a few strands hanging down into her face. She hasn’t bothered to fix it yet, and I find my left hand reaching to brush her (H/L) hair behind her ear as best as possible.

She glances warily at me, saying nothing as she continues driving us farther and farther from the city. The lights are distant now.

“No,” I say into the quiet, “I don’t.”

(Y/N) seems to visibly relax, a small smile of relief breaking out. I smile too.

“Where are we going?” I ask, still gazing at her through the darkness surrounding us. Her right hand jumps from the steering wheel to rest on the gear shift.

She shrugs, her smile getting wider. “I don’t know really. I didn’t have a destination in mind when we started,” she answers. Her (E/C) eyes flick to me again. “Do you want to go somewhere in particular?”

“No, this is fine.” I turn fully in my seat, so I can look at her head-on.

She chuckles. “You just want to stare at me as I drive us to nowhere?” She teases me.

I hum in agreement, nodding.

Her eyes are soft in the flashing lights at my answer. “Okay,” she whispers. I reach out and take her right hand in my left, causing her smile to turn somber like her expression.

The clock reads, 12:38AM, and I know I have work the next morning - important meetings to attend - but I cannot seem to bring myself to care. Right here, right now, I have all I need.

We drive for hours, stopping a few times for restroom breaks or snacks, or gas. We talk more than the first night or at the hotel, getting to know each other better. I barely let go of her hand. I like the way it fits in mine, in a way that makes me feel as though we are meant for each other.

Eventually, (Y/N) pulls the car into an overlook and puts the vehicle in park. The sun is beginning to rise, not even peeking out yet from between the skyscrapers that make up the city. The thought that (Y/N) and I have to go our separate ways soon brings up a disappointment I immediately push away. We have time; the whole car ride back.

She turns off the car and climbs over the console, mumbling something about being low on gas and cold while she settles herself into my lap, arms curling around my neck. She leans until her cold nose is poking at my jaw and her forehead is touching my temple, humming contently.

I settle my arms around her - one about her waist and the other holding on to one of her thighs - bringing her warmth closer to mine.

“When do you have to be in by?” (Y/N) asks, voice soft.

I don’t know why, but her question brings a sense of finality, like I have just made a decision on something I am not even aware of. The feeling doesn’t sit right with me, and somehow she can tell, for she leans back to study me in the brightening darkness.

“We have just about enough gas for the return trip, should we get going now?”

I nod after several unspoken moments, “Yes, we should.”

There is a pause as (Y/N) considers me. Eventually, she leans in again, pressing a chaste kiss to my left cheek. It feels like she has branded me, marked me as her own with the kiss. Even as I watch her slither back across the console and start up the car, turning to see behind her as she backs up, I have this feeling that I don’t mind.

  
(######)

  
So let’s start right now….

  
(######)

The alley she pulls me into is dirty, grimy, and smells heavily of garbage that’s been out in the sun too long, though the sun set hours ago. She seems to sense my extreme unease to the hiding spot, and when she backs into one of the walls, she lays my hand on her hips and then tugs me closer by wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

It’s just me and her in that moment, my glass-covered grey eyes staring into her twinkling (E/C) ones as she stares back at me. Her smile quirks to one side, and she presses her lips to mine in one fluid motion, shocking me in place for the first few seconds.

But, her lips are intoxicating, and suddenly, I cannot seem to stop kissing her. Not for breath, not to allow her to breathe. I can’t when she’s making these little sighs and hums of contentment in the back of her throat; not when she’s arching into the curve of my body like she has always belonged there.

One of her hands dips under the collar of my shirt, her fingers brushing against my skin lightly, and while normally a move like that would make me uncomfortable with the lack of distance between me and the other person, now I hum into the movement. My hands tighten on her hips reflexively.

She moans against my lips, and it takes me a second to realize that I hadn’t hummed; the sound I had made was actually closer to a growl. It takes me another second to realize that she likes that sound from me, and now she is all but purring against my lips.

(Y/N) retracts from me, her head leaning back on the brick behind her as she gulps in air, but I cannot stop now. I revel in the taste of her, in the way her lips and body meld to mine as if she was made for me. I need more of her while I can still get it.

My head’s spinning as I lean down to kiss and nibble at her skin, sucking a hickey at her collarbone.

She yelps in surprise when I nip at the bruise quickly forming, breathy laughter following.

My hands slide beneath the hem of her shirt, feeling the softness of her skin under my fingertips. Something shifts then, and I place a small kiss atop the bruise before leaning my forehead against hers, my eyes closed and my breathing deep but slow.

After I manage to catch my breath, I swallow heavily, eyes now open but hands still just under the edge of her shirt.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I whisper, feeling her hot breath on my face every time she exhales. Neither of us move away.

“Why not?” She straightens, stretching a little before slouching back down with a happy sigh. Her own eyes flick open to look at me. “We were just making out, Kyoya. It’s not like we’re gonna do the naughty in a dirty alley.”

“No, I mean, this…… us,” I correct. I still do not move away, and against my own words, I press a soft kiss to her right cheekbone, and the another to her left. “We’re not right for each other.”

“So what? Why should that bother me?” She asks, a palm spread flat at the bottom of my neck and her other hand curled in my hair.

“I don’t -- want to hurt you,” I reluctantly admit. “I’m not like you. I don’t live like you do, going out every night and working at the local diner every day.”

“And I’m not like you, working hard day and night to improve a company I started or to make sure I’m not involved in any scandals that could ruin the business,” she returns smoothly, one corner of her mouth twitching up. “I live life the way I see fit, and sometimes that involves a little risk-taking.”

“You could be hurt,” I insist, “and not just by me. Some trashy tabloid could catch us together, and it could all go downhill from there.” I pause before softly adding, “I don’t want you to blame me if that happens.”

“I could be hurt by a million different people, but doesn’t it tell you something if the person I wanna be hurt by right now is you?”

My eyebrows furrow at her words, and she just giggles and pecks my lips, untangling herself from me.

I suddenly feel incomplete without her, even though she’s standing right in front of me. I try to rationalize to myself that the feeling cannot be because she isn’t tangled up in me the way I am with her.

“(Y/N)-”

She stops me with a shake of her head. “If you’re really that concerned about us being seen together or whatever, then just tell me. Tell me you don’t want this. Show me you haven’t meant everything you’ve said since we met.”

After days of trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t have continued things between us beyond the first night and what I have just said, I can’t bring myself to end things, to end us.

She had been starting to mean something to me since we met, since we talked in that hotel room, since we had driven down the highway in the middle of the night, since now.

My grip on her hips loosen, and my thumbs begin rubbing small circles on her skin.

“This could end badly, probably will,” I comment idly, gazing down on her through the dark.

Her arms comes up to slide around my shoulders again, resting where they have always been meant to rest. “But maybe it won’t,” she says, as way of replying.

And for her hope and optimism, I have to kiss her breathless again.


End file.
